


CATastrophe

by CaptainErica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Slower build up, potions enthusiast Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainErica/pseuds/CaptainErica
Summary: Draco might still be reeling from the end of the war, from the change in lifestyle, from not wanting to bring attention to himself... This cat on his doorstep might be the first thing he's spoken aloud to this week, or maybe month that wasn't his mother.





	1. 1

"Now, who are you?" Draco asks.

He's not usually so quick to speak to strange animals on his doorstep, but he's had a bit of a day so honestly he would talk to the doorknob if it provided even a bit of a reaction. The cat does react, which is great for Draco but also horrible, as it means he's likely to continue speaking to it.

It shifts and moves, flowing almost, to look up at him. Its tail flicks from side to side, almost agitated, but it's sat down, so clearly it's willing to talk.

"Ah, being cagey. I understand that, smart of you." He says, still looking down at it, not considering crouching to be closer; he's not quite  _ that _ desperate for interaction yet.

The cat seems to frown up at him, or to give him a disapproving look, neither of which does he appreciate right now.

"No need to be rude, you know. I'm not going to give you anything, especially if you're rude about it." He says, sniffing a little, disdainful. He looks away and up, scanning the area, considering where the cat could have come from.

The cat mews, soft and almost reproachful, and Draco thinks he should definitely not stand here speaking to it for any longer... he looks down at it, considers going inside, and then sighs to himself and steps fully outdoors, letting the door shut behind him as he squats down as carefully as possible in front of the cat.

"Who do you belong to, hm? No one I know lives near enough, and most of the muggle neighbors are the farming type, and you're too pretty to be a farm cat." He says, eyes going a little squinty as he takes the cat in more fully. The cat doesn't seem phased by the compliment, so he assumes it's either not used to them or its agitation is winning out.

He sighs, looking out at the open yard before them, no clues in sight. "What are you doing here, hm?" He asks, softer than before. "Seems very deliberate, you sitting on the front steps like this, but I don't know you." He says, almost a lament, softly dramatic; more emotion than he has shown in public since the war, and this is theatrics instead of panic and fear and disdain...

He reaches out carefully and lets the tips of his fingers brush over the cat's head. Its eyes close, head stretching in that way a cat's does when it's enjoying attention, before it abruptly stops and lifts a paw to rest on his wrist: pausing him.

"No? Then what?" He asks, looking at the cat closely again. There was something strange about the eyes... and... but draco was not a cat expert, so he couldn't say anything with certainty. "You  _ are _ a cat, are you not?" He asks, and the eyes are wide and on him now, bright and deeply inquisitive. 

Cats do not understand human speech, Draco reminds himself firmly as he very seriously considers that this cat might not be a cat at all. "Are you stuck like this?" He asks, and the cat seems to squirm, tail hitching agitatedly behind it. "But who and how and why me, hm?" He asks, hand dropping away from the paw holding it. It was entirely possible that coming to him was a mistake or entirely unintended by the creature. He can't fathom why anyone would be in this area if they weren't there to see him though; there was truly nothing in Wiltshire except the manor.

He sighs, dragging a pale hand down his face and shaking his head. "You'll expect to come in, yes?" He asks, drawling, almost annoyed except... well, if it were really not a cat then this would be the most exciting and intriguing thing to happen to him in months, years even. He stands up slowly, hands on his knees as he unbends himself to his full height. "You can come in, of course if you are just a cat I'm not letting you stay." He warns, softly stern, before he turns and opens the door into the house.

The cat seems to hesitate behind him before standing fully, head held high, and strolling in past him. 

It was probably a stupid idea to let the cat in, Draco thinks as he leads the cat upstairs toward his own private rooms; no need to get his mother involved, best he not, really. He shakes his head of the thought and turns into his set of rooms, the cat trotting easily behind him and in. The cat, he notes, seems stiff, still agitated of course, but almost... well he can't really interpret cats now can he? 

"Sit over there." He says, pointing vaguely toward a chair. The cat obeys, and Draco has to admit that yes, this is likely not a real cat.

He leaves the cat there and heads for a bookshelf close to the door, frowning up at it as he tries to decide if he has anything in here on transfiguration spells or if he should look into potions. He has mostly potions, and it takes him a little while of sincere consideration before he decides on a couple of potential volumes, long fingers reaching up to pull them down carefully. He turns back to the cat and is only a little concerned to find it staring at him, almost unblinking. He shakes his head of the thought and moves to his desk, the cat to his left now and still staring. 

"I'm working on it, honestly these things are delicate." He says, spreading the books out before him to consider them. “There’s a lot to consider, you know? This is going to be a lot of guessing and we don’t like guessing in spellwork.” There's a beat of nothing as he looks at the cat after he’s finished speaking, and then it’s hopped up onto the desk, tail working in the air as it walks across the books. 

"Oh, do you know what it was that caused this?" Draco asks, hating himself just a little for talking to a cat like it's nothing and he does it every day. He talks to no one on a regular basis, but this... this cat doesn't need to know that he's lonely enough to talk to a cat. "It would have helped to lead with that if so." He adds, mean just to be so, voice a little acidic like he used to get, it feels good and bad all at once and the cat gives him a look like it knows that. It stops moving though, front paws set on the potions book Draco had gotten down mostly for a laugh; it wasn't usually helpful and was very old fashioned. 

"If you're certain." He says with a sigh, not acknowledging he had been rude but not continuing to be so, and the cat moves back so he can open the book. He looks through the table of contents, the cat obnoxiously in his way until he sees a promising section and flips to that page. At that, the cat backs up and sits down to glower at him. He can't decide if it's upset with him or not, but he is doing his best and besides, it's a  _ cat _ .

"Alright, how about this, hm? Transfiguration via potion, it looks like... is this your animagus?" Draco asks, looking up at the cat from the pages. He feels suddenly rather old doing that, like he needs a pair of silvery reading glasses to complete his look and has to forcefully push that all aside; he could wallow in his oneness later. The cat tilts its head, blinks, and then stares at him, unblinking and with its tail twitching and Draco decides that means no. "Then what was it, hm?" He asks, a little testy, though he doesn't look at the cat as he says it, eyes on the book as he flips to the next page to look through it.

"Not an Animagus, no, though it suits you, if this is what you’re always like.” He mutters, finger running down the page. The cat gives him a look, but Draco doesn’t pay any attention to it, too focused.

The next few pages are unlikely to be able to help, but then he comes across a potion that he thinks might…

“Here we go, it’s not easy, does this look right?” He asks, turning the book toward the cat just a touch as if the cat couldn’t look on its own.

The cat looks away from him and down at the pages. It seems to scan the pages before it, extra stiff, extra considering. It takes a moment, but then it looks up at him and Draco realizes he’d been staring at the cat, eagerly awaiting a reaction so he schools his features to try and cover the open eagerness that he had felt there.

“Yes?” He prompts, and the cat seems to hesitate before moving fluidly from its seated position to stand and butt its head against his hand. “I’ll take that as a yes. So let’s see what the counter is, hm?” He pulls the book back toward him and reads through it again before finding the way to counter it. 

He gets up and heads for a separate room to look through a cabinet of potions he had been carefully curating since he’d gotten out of school. He doesn’t think he has this specific counter-potion, but he might, he’d gotten very good at stasis charms and he knows this potion so he just…

The cat hops off the desk and follows after him, dragging against his legs when it gets to where he’s stopped. He looks down at it briefly, a frown on his face from his concentration. The cat had this… look about it that made him think of high marks in school and color-coded checklists. He shakes his head and reaches into the cabinet for a vial.

“You’re in luck, because it takes 24hrs to brew and no one has that kind of time when they’ve been turned into a cat and left on my doorstep.” Draco says, looking down at the cat and holding the vial carefully. “The bathroom might be best.” He says, turning to leave this little side room to head through his study to the bathroom that connects to his bedroom.

He would pour it into a dish for the cat to drink, he thinks, if he could find a dish without leaving. The house-elves were long gone, since that horrible year before the battle, so he would have to summon something or go down and find it; and his mother hated it when he summoned the china through the house. He happens to have a little dish, luckily, that he rinses out as the cat sits primly on the cold tile floor of the bathroom and watches him.

“Alright, you drink this, no complaints about taste. I’ll close the door when I leave, you can use a robe.” He says, waving his hand toward a little alcove and making a robe appear there, hanging in mid-air. “Who knows what your state of dress will be.” He mutters, dumping the vial into the dish and then setting it on the floor. 

Draco heads back into his study, had considered his bedroom but whoever the cat was would likely follow him or something and he’d prefer they not go in there. He tidies up the books as he waits, reading over the entry for the counter-potion as he sets the rest of the books to putting themselves away. It should only take a little while, a couple more minutes maybe for the effects to really kick in.

When the door to the bathroom opens Draco is in the small side room with his potions, considering what he should stock up on, wondering if this is the type of occurrence one normally keeps a vast array of potions on stasis for. He hears movement though, and turns, hands dropping from his studious stance as his eyes come in contact with - 

“Granger?” He asks, confused, a little put out, definitely on the verge of encroaching embarrassment.

She’s wrapped in the black and green robe he’d had hanging out for her; hair frizzy, skin darker than usual, likely because it was summer and he had heard she had a penchant for telling people the outdoors were good for them. “I hadn’t expected you to be so… on brand.” She says, a slightly embarrassed smile touching her lips as she tugs at the emerald green tie for the robe.

Draco’s cheeks color easily, though lightly, and he huffs, “I like green.” He says, almost defensive, before he pulls in a breath and then huffs it out; covering this weird embarrassment with annoyance. “Well, I see the potion worked, care to share how a Ministry Official like yourself got doused in a potion like that?” He asks, the defensive tinge gone and replaced by cool interest and maybe a soft amount of mockery (teasing, it’s teasing when it’s soft but you’re not even acquaintances, so you can’t tease her).

Granger seems amused by him, but he ignores it as well he can. She shakes her head and sighs, “Ah, you know, a visit out to a site of some problems with some Unspeakables, a clumsy Auror who I’ll have words with tomorrow, and then my little cat brain recognizes the gates to a wizarding manor in Wiltshire.” She says with a shrug, like this wasn’t a big deal at all.

Like  _ he _ wasn’t a big deal at all.

“Just had to convince someone to take you in, hm? What if it had been my mother?” He asks, drawls, tries to sound superior. 

She just shrugs again, though, “You’d have seen me eventually, and she’d have recognized I wasn’t a real cat at some point.” 

Draco almost scowls, but it’s only almost because he catches himself at the last minute. He should be polite, he doesn’t talk to many people anymore, and Granger was… not his first choice but not his last. “Well, now that you’re back to rights.” He says, expecting her to get the hint. She spent all morning listening to him speak to a  _ cat _ . Yes, it was her, but at the time he didn’t know that.

“Yes, now I’m back I can head home.” she says, “could I use your floo? I’ve not got my wand, or real clothing.” 

Draco’s cheeks go that pink color again, high in his cheeks. “Yes, here, we will have to go downstairs.” He had forgotten she wasn’t dressed, not looking at her body just her face while they had spoken. “Mother will not be in the parlor.” he adds as she hesitates to follow after him.

The walk down is worse than anything, Draco thinks as they go down a back staircase to more thoroughly be certain they don’t run into his mother. They don’t speak, and Draco has to wonder what Granger must be thinking as they walk through…

“Floo Powder here.” Draco says, pulling a porcelain pot off the mantel and holding it out for her. 

Granger looks at him, almost like she’s gauging him, and then nods slowly and moves closer to take a pinch of the powder. “Thank you, Draco, for everything, I mean it.” She says, and now she’s smiling just a little. But then she’s stepping back and turning toward the fireplace. “Have a good day.”

And then Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of their age and, well, probably quite a few other ages as well, is gone.

It’s just as well, Draco thinks as he heads back up to his rooms. If Granger had stayed, well, there had been no chance of that. He shakes his head at himself, there was no point in thinking like  _ that _ . It wasn’t productive and it would ruin his carefully crafted lifestyle of solitude and simplicity and  _ no people. _ It was easier this way, truly. Better after the years of… well.

His mother might sniff in disapproval and say that he sulked and skulked instead of holding himself with the dignity he deserved, but then, she had had far more years of false dignity than he had. She’d maintained it far better than he as well; saving Harry Potter would do that for you; being saved by Harry Potter despite really not deserving it? That wasn’t quite the same.

Still, this morning had been the most interesting morning he had had in at least 3 years.

_ “Things are bound to take a turn for the better.” _ The wheezy old mirror in the main hallway says, and Draco realizes he had paused. He scowls at it, but the look feels wrong on his face so he shakes it off and continues on to his rooms.

Better not to think of today at all. Hope wasn’t something he needed to deal with right now, especially when he doesn’t know what it might be he’s hoping for.


	2. Two

Ron hadn't stopped laughing for 10 minutes after she had finished her story, a little huffily due to the laughter, but no one would blame her for that. 

"You gonna return the robe?" Harry had asked, leaning a little into the table, eyes bright like he's holding his laughter behind amusement. 

Hermione hadn't decided yet, at that point, being that it was just hours after returning to normal to begin with. It's the morning after now, and she's feeling that sense of belated embarrassment that she sometimes gets when she's overly confident in an otherwise horribly embarrassing situation.

"I have nothing to be embarrassed over." She mutters to herself a little fiercely as she stares at the neatly folded robe on her desk. "He helped me after an unfortunate accident and I'm returning his property." She adds, just as quietly but a little less fiercely.

She sighs and turns away from her desk to check her calendar, posted prominently on the wall behind her. The excursion yesterday should only have taken up her morning and left her afternoon open to finish a report on cauldron efficiency and its relation to magical animal rights. She frowns and shakes her head; if she sends the robe now she will have about 45 minutes for writing.

Sitting down, Hermione grabs a memo pad and writes out a very short note. She places it on the folded robe, summons some wrapping and sets it to doing so around the pile, and then writes 'Draco Malfoy' in block letters on the front. "There." She mutters to herself, waving the package off toward the mail drop, the words she had written haunting her for the next 3 hours 

\- Mr. Malfoy, please accept this return of your property with my sincerest thanks for your help yesterday morning. Yours, H.G. -

At lunch, Hermione locks her door and refuses to meet anyone. It's a bad choice as it gives her an uninterrupted hour to fret off and on about the note and the package and the familiarity and oh Merlin she had been naked and wandless in Malfoy Manor and Draco Malfoy himself had...

Well, truthfully, Hermione thinks as she sits up a bit, he had seemed very uncomfortable. Not just because of who she was but because... well she couldn't name why... she hadn't spoken to him or really seen him in a couple of years. Oh she had heard about him, heard he kept his head down, did something with potions, helped someone with something, collected.... but she had not personally seen him outside of newspaper photos. Maybe, and this will drastically improve her mood and pull her from this twirling funk of embarrassment; maybe he was embarrassed to be caught speaking to a cat. She hadn't thought of that yesterday, but now... well, wouldn't you be?

She’s not exactly sure why this will make her feel better, or why it  _ does _ but oh Merlin does it.

Hermione’s day is productive after that. She leaves her door unlocked so people can come by, and she goes through her IN tray until it’s completely empty by end of day. It’s on her way out of the office that she wonders if Draco would respond to her. That was something she hadn’t thought about before, and it adds to her walk out and down the street to the bookstore.

“Oh, you gave it back?” Ginny asks over lunch the next day. 

It was a beautiful day so they had decided to meet for Hermione’s lunch hour down at a cafe where they could eat outside. It was, so far, a very good choice.

“Of course.” Hermione says, reaching across to steal the roll she knew Ginny wouldn’t eat; she didn’t eat much bread when the Harpies were between seasons. “I wasn’t going to keep his  _ robe _ , Ginevra… It was emerald green and black, by the way, I couldn’t get away with keeping it without it being clearly not my own.”

Ginny snorts, bringing a knee up toward her chest before continuing to pick at her food. “I’d love the chance to help George spread a salacious rumor about your love life, though.” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Course, it’s more fun when it’s true.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “You won’t get me to give you any details if you keep playing this type of game.” 

“So there  _ are _ sordid love affairs you could be telling me about? I have a reputation to keep up, you know; George is meant to be this great gossip mill and how am I supposed to keep him like that?” 

Hermione stops herself from rolling her eyes again, shifting instead to cross her legs as she sits back. “I don’t believe that’s your responsibility, and especially not with my potential love life.”

Ginny snorts, shaking her head and letting her long hair hang in front of her face for a moment before tipping it back so her hair falls back again. “I’ll concede to part of that point, but not all of it.” She says, before her eyes focus over Hermione’s shoulder and then follow whatever she’s looking at until, presumably, it passes out of sight. “But hey, it’s not my fault you keep all of your little indiscretions bottled up. It’s bad for you, you’ve got to get it out, Hermione, tell me about your men who leave robes lying about your flat…”

Hermione’s nose scrunches up in confusion as Ginny talks, but then there’s a sound like someone stumbling back into something or some _ one _ and Ginny’s got a grin so wide Hermione just knows something is up. “Who was listening?” She demands, just a little stiffly. Her reaction only makes Ginny’s grin widen.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe just the owner of a very nice, possibly very expensive, green and black robe.” 

Hermione thinks, as she puts her things down at her desk after lunch, that Ginny was just joking. Not that it mattered, but she was curious; what about that conversation would have made Draco Malfoy stumble over himself? Did he really think that that little comment, that she was playing up to her friends that she had had a little love affair? That she had covered up what happened to her? 

He can’t believe that of her, can he?


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short! Sometimes have to get through a short chapter to move on ^^

Draco needs a cat.

No, no  _ not _ a cat a  _ pet. _ He needs something to talk to, to keep his mind off of other things to…

“No, that won’t work. Have you anything more subtle?” Blaise asks, and Draco wrinkles his nose, but reaches across his desk and flips a page in the book, pointing at another option. “I suppose that could be useful.” Blaise agrees, and Draco leans back in his seat, legs crossing under the white and blue robes he had decided on for today.

He hated when his old friends came to call. They were some of the few who knew where to find him, mostly because they knew about these types of places; tiny places hiding amidst the bigger shops. They were suppliers, and that’s why the pureblooded children Draco had grown up with knew where they were, who they were. Their parents didn’t purchase from stores for their potions when they could get it directly from the creator. 

It wasn’t so frequent now that people did this and Draco was pleased by that because it meant that he didn’t have to speak to anyone for the grand majority of his time. It meant that he didn’t have to see the faces of the people who he had grown up seeing with his parents, who he had grown up wandering amongst at parties. It meant he didn’t have to see the looks of pity, or of non-recognition that they would give him. He couldn’t tell who was upset with his turn of sides, and who was just convinced they were better than him. His  _ friends _ were almost no better, though some were just as horribly treated, horribly held down.

“You’ll come for dinner, then? It’s Daphne’s birthday.” Blaise says, probably trying to fill the quiet frustration of Draco being so silent. “Astoria and Pansy will be there.” He adds, like that’s much of an incentive.

“No, I’m not coming.” He says, sighing. “Take your potions.” he adds, an eyebrow raised like he knows this was the only reason Blaise had come, he hadn’t been here for potions. Blaise is the only one who wants to see him, Daphne might be willing, but the rest? Absolutely not.

That, and he’s going to be busy thinking about what he had overheard while walking past a cafe at the lunch hour. 

Had Granger been caught out with his robe in her place? Had to concoct a story instead of telling the truth? It doesn’t sound like her at all, especially as she had to explain her disappearance. It must have just been idle gossip, the youngest Weasley simply hadn’t been told the story, and Granger hadn’t felt the need to explain it again.

Some weird part of Draco… Well, he doesn’t let that thought finish.

Saturday saw Draco making a quick trip into Diagon Alley. He was trying to get out of the house, away from his mother and away from work. The bookstore was the best choice for clearing his mind, and it gave him a chance to be around people without too much need to interact. That, and the clerk looked at him like he was just any other person. Not very hard to come by this long after the war, but still rare enough.

It’s on the 2nd floor that Draco runs into Granger. She’s sat in the chair that Draco had been thinking about on his way in, which is a bit of a downer considering he had hoped to never see her again. Something about seeing her there, however, brings him back into his impulsive 12-year-old self, and he can’t help but to say something.

“I was considering a pet the other day, thinking about a cat.” He says, conversational, like he’s often just had conversations with young ladies in bookstores, and not like he’s a veritable recluse. It’s like a disease, he thinks, this stupid need to speak that he had thought had been beaten out of him from the age of 15 on until now.

When Granger looks up, Draco has his eyes on a nearby, overstuffed shelf. He can’t have her knowing he was interested in her reaction, though he definitely was. Can’t have her aware that maybe he’s regressing into his childhood self just because of her.

“A very good choice, reliable, though with how big your house is, it would likely get up to all sorts of nonsense and you’d rarely see it.” She says, and Draco sighs, put upon almost, but it’s false. 

He turns toward her, then, slow, leaning against the shelf, carefully casual. “I suppose you are correct.” He says, and for some reason it’s far easier to talk to her than he thought it might have been. Draco doesn’t want to think about that too much.

“Of course I am.” She says, and it’s very pert, very certain, no wiggle room. “But then, I don’t believe you truly want a cat of your own.” she says, almost sounding amused to Draco’s ears. 

It feels… nice to be on the receiving end of something so basic as amusement. “I did think about it.” He says, like he’s trying to prove it to her despite that uncomfortable feeling he’s getting at the thought that he likes amusing her.

She snorts softly, shaking her head, then nods toward the shelf. “Something interest you on that shelf? I’ve never been particularly enthused by Divination myself, though I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

Draco almost snorts in response, but remembers himself quite quickly… And the reference she is making. “I might remember something of the sort.” He says, “but I’ll admit that I never set much store by the course myself.” 

Hermione hums, an interesting look crossing over her face before it’s gone and Draco can’t consider it any longer. He wishes he knew her well enough to know what it might have meant. 

“Well, then I would suggest a different section for your next book purchase.” She says, that hint of amusement still there. “Down that aisle, over there, is a good section on potions made using mostly common, household items. Of course it’s also got regular potions books, but I thought you’d find those most interesting.” She says, and Draco is struck by this rather forcefully, though he doesn’t want to think about it any deeper than just that.

“Mm, I’ll consider it.” He says, easy and softly evasive. “I’ll leave you to your perusing.” He adds, nodding toward her and the book in her hands. 

“Oh, I almost forgot, you got your robe back, yes? Only, I rarely trust the ministry owls to deliver packages.” Granger says, and it’s a surprise… Draco had already turned away so he had to stop in his stride away.

She’d ruined his departure by trying to talk to him more. 

It was a stupid thing to be annoyed about, but he was not very used to this whole conversational thing anymore, and he had always been rather petty. “Ah, yes, I received it. Thank you for returning it.” He says, a little clipped, and her eyebrow raises, but there’s that look on her face, that smile on her lips that says to him that she finds him amusing still. “I hope having it caused you no problems?” He adds, which is a stupid thing to say, stupid and a little petty, and sounding far too interested.

Granger blinks, and there’s an emotion or something that passes across her face that Draco is unable to place before it is gone. “No, no, I’m sure no one would even have noticed it had I kept it.” She says, which he chooses to take as a dig at him instead of what it really was; a comment on her own life.

Draco nods, eyes almost uninterested, before he gives her a rather disused smile that leaves his lips feeling odd and his fingers clenching in a weird tell of his anxiety as he turns away again. She’s gone when he makes his way back up the aisle, but then he had been sure to linger for far longer than necessary just in case.

It’s an odd feeling, getting his own self back.


	4. Four

Hermione makes her way down the hall, heels making that satisfying  _ click _ sound as she goes. It was one of those days at work where she couldn’t wait to get home and it was only barely 11am. One of those days where her goal was to get her work done, survive the day, and end up home and on the couch with a good book.

Of course, first, she had to somehow make it through this meeting.

As part of a new committee that she had only just found out she had been volunteered for, she would need to go to a number of these meetings. The committee was mostly aurors, then there was herself, representing the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as a whole, and then a handful of other people representing small subsections of their own departments. It was, on the whole, a very small committee that Hermione greatly wished she was not a part of today.

Tomorrow she might feel differently, but today?

As she sits in her chair, facing Cormac McLaggen who was presenting on behalf of the Broom Regulatory Control division of the Department of Transportation, she thinks about the many things she could be doing instead of this. McLaggen had been given time to prepare, it appeared, and didn’t seem to be heading toward a stopping point anytime soon, so her mountain of tasks loomed easily to mind.

Uninterested at the moment in the problems facing the Ministry in regards to transportation charms, Hermione’s mind is on the stack of contracts waiting for her on her desk. She’s on her to-do list, stuck neatly to the large board behind her desk. She’s thinking about her calendar, clear as anything and carefully created to blend into the top of her desk when she doesn’t need to see it, but there when she lifts a stack of papers to view a particular date. 

She’s even thinking about lunch, which is truly rather rude of her, but then she’s had a trying day, and was pushed onto this committee at the very last moment with little understanding of what it was actually for. If she weren’t both annoyed and so busy she’d have looked into it more before getting here, and maybe then she’d have been interested in what was being said.

Maybe then, she’d have caught on sooner to the fact that the delegate from the Ludicrous Patents Office (Ernie… Ernie Penwhistle?), and the one from the Improper Use of Magic office (name unknown), had both been confirmed for an excursion. 

An excursion that included her. Hermione Granger, sole delegate of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“Surely this many people won’t be necessary.” She says once she’s fully aware of the situation. It’s another thing to add to the list, and honestly if it’s just about  _ charms _ and  _ transport _ and  _ faulty floos _ then she’s rather certain that someone from another division would be better suited to it than her. Though…

Her question buys her a few moments to ascertain what the excursion might really be about, as people begin discussing it again, and then it’s put to a vote and this time, fully aware, Hermione makes sure she is not part of it.

With this whole business taken care of, the meeting breaks up and she is free to head back to her office, a breath of relief leaving her. The last time she had been appointed to be part of an excursion like that she had been turned into a cat and left by Malfoy Manor.

She takes lunch in her office to make up for the time stolen by the committee meeting, and is soon back on track; the stack of contracts slowly sifted through until they were properly organized, the to-do list neatly checked off. And when it’s time to go home, she breathes another sigh of relief and heads for the floos, nodding to people she knows, stopping to chat with very few people.

On Friday evening, Harry mentions over drinks that Ginny and George had asked him to come to some field test the next day.

“It sounds dangerous, you shouldn’t trust them when they gang up on you like that.” Hermione says, eyebrows raised in an expression that says;  _ Harry James Potter, you should know better by now. _

He snorts, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck a little. “Maybe, but that’s why I’m hoping to have the smartest witch in the world on my side.” He says, a grin lighting up his face, and Hermione is rarely able to say no to  _ that _ face. “George tried to convince me that he and Ginny would provide food, but I know better than to accept food from either of them, so I was going to suggest a pub after, if we survive.” He says, tipping his head at the end like death is a sure potential.

Hermione sighs softly, turning her glass around on the table a few times. “Fine, I’ll come, but I’m not touching anything they bring with them.” She says, and Harry gives her a very wide smile in return.

*

It had felt like a set up from the get go, from the moment she had walked through the door of the shop, Harry just ahead of her. It was always a bad idea to agree to things that included  _ both _ Ginny and George, and it was triply, quadruply, enormously stupid to agree when the meeting was going to be within Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“Hermione, so glad you could make it.” George had said when the door had closed behind them, completely ignoring Harry. This was suspicious all on its own, and it made Hermione wonder if Harry were in on something, some strange secret she was going to be very cross with them all about at the end.

“Well,” she had started, prim and simple, “I’m always interested when there might be some type of new magic to consider. You always do provide.” She said, and George had thrown her that type of carefree but deeply troubling smile that only he could affect; it was unsettling, mischievous, and wholly uncomfortable.

The new potion that he had developed, with Ginny’s help (she didn’t explain  _ how _ she had helped), had been violently orange in hue, and had smelled vaguely of grass and crisp leaves. This had been the first notion she had had that the potion itself was probably a bad idea.

“What is helping create the smell?” She had asked, rather pointedly. 

When Ginny and George had looked at each other, right then, Hermione should have treated it like the next clue.

Instead, oh instead, she had accepted the lengthy and academic answer George had spewed forth, while Harry blinked in boredom beside her. She had then, in probably the stupidest moment of her life so far, agreed to move closer to see some of George’s notes. It had been the thrill of the academic adventure that had gotten her, had tricked her.

And now here she sits, feeling an unfortunately familiar type of stiffness, and a similarly unfortunately familiar sense that she is far shorter than she normally is.

After contemplating what had lead to this, Hermione’s smaller but still just as analytical mind, entices her to consider who is to  _ blame _ . Her first thoughts are of Ginny and George, who are absolutely the main culprits, and by the looks on their faces they are  _ well aware _ of that fact. She swivels her head, noting as she does that she is  _ absolutely _ a cat again, and focuses her ire on Harry Potter.

The look on his face, and the fact that he’s currently frantically trying to get George and Ginny to change her back, makes Hermione decide that he is not, in fact, secretly complicit in this.

She should have known better.

She’s so wrapped up in her own, dizzying thoughts, that she’s taken by surprise when Harry leans forward, nervously fixing his glasses. She rears back, startled, and Harry apologizes while fixing his glasses again;  _ nervous habit. _

“Hermione? I’m, I’m going to pick you up, okay?” He says, and she gives him a bit of a glower and a softly annoyed  _ meow _ at the way he’s talking to her all slow and deliberate, before she takes a few steps closer so he knows she understands. 

She swivels her attention around to try and find George or Ginny, having not been paying attention for the majority of the time after noticing she had changed  _ again _ . It was hard to keep track of time anyway while like this, something different in her brain as a cat. She doesn’t see them, just the cauldron and the notes and a full vial that Harry picks up, the same violently orange hue as the potion in the cauldron.

“We’re going to a potion maker, or something, any ideas?” Harry asks, as if she can talk to him. She tilts her little head back as well she can from where she’s curled into his arm and chest, and he sighs. “I know you can’t  _ talk _ but really, anything you could do to help.” He says, reaching for her wand a little belatedly before turning to leave.

They’re out the front door when Harry starts muttering to himself, and presumably her. 

“Thought it would be funny, apparently; hoping it had the  _ same effects as the last time _ , what does that even mean, Hermione?” Harry asks, nose wrinkling, annoyed, as he scans the busy street. “Shouldn’t have accepted the offer, I know better,  _ you _ know better.” He adds, just as low as before, turning to the right, presumably heading toward one of the many apothecaries on the street. 

Hermione is not a fan of how quickly he is moving, bouncing her around a bit in his hold, but she can’t really  _ tell _ him that, so she lets out a  _ very _ disgruntled warning sound. It makes him stop for a moment, thankfully, and then step to the side hastily as people try to get around him. 

“Sorry, never carried a cat before.” He says, and Hermione sighs inwardly, while outwardly she twists in his grip and presses her front paws against his chest so she can push herself back to look at him without getting down. 

The look is one of determination, it’s one that says, as clearly as she can: think out loud because  _ I can’t. _

“Alright, alright.” Harry says, eyes jumping behind his circular frames to scan the crowd ahead of them; wouldn’t  _ really _ do to have Harry Potter seen talking to a cat in the middle of Diagon Alley. They don’t have much choice, though, and for all Harry has gotten better about this type of thing, he’s still very much  _ Harry. _

“She said that they were trying to get the same effect as the last time you were a cat.” Harry says, quiet, looking around like he might just be reminding himself of the day’s shopping list. “Said...wait, what happened last time you were a cat?” He asks after a moment of contemplation, looking down at her with wide eyes. 

Hermione blinks back up at him, round eyes big and confused for a moment before narrowing a little menacingly.

“Malfoy.” Harry says at that, quiet, a bit of surprise in his voice. “Oh, I guess that makes sense.” He adds, though it is clear to Hermione that he really doesn’t think that.

There’s a moment, next, where Hermione and Harry are staring into each other’s eyes - Hermione willing Harry to understand that she doesn’t really want him to go and find Malfoy because it’s  _ embarrassing _ and she’s sure that if they go see Molly, she can get her children to provide an antidote. At the same time, though, Harry’s eyes are conveying a deep feeling of apology and sincere regret because it’s his only option, and as he is Harry Potter (Hermione thinks a little bitterly) of course he will choose the harder choice.

“He doesn’t work on the weekends, does he?” Harry asks, and Hermione tries to manipulate her little cat face into a look that might convey  _ ‘do I look like I know Malfoy’s work schedule? Does he even have a job?’  _ but she isn’t sure she does very well because Harry nods, and says “you’re right, of course, he would definitely work on the weekend, at least a little bit, because then he wouldn’t have to see people.”

This makes no sense to Hermione, but then she has no idea what Draco Malfoy does for work, so can’t fathom why he might believe  _ working _ would lead to him seeing fewer people. She doesn’t have any chance to really think about it, however, as Harry has clearly made his mind up, settling her back into the crook of his arm. He’s off before she can do more than  _ meow  _ loudly at him, but he just takes it as a request for urgency, and she is very annoyed by that.

She will have many words for Harry Potter when she’s back to herself again.

They stop before a rather nondescript door, nothing really there to mark it as any different from any other door along the row. They’re deep down a side street that is suspiciously similar to Knockturn Alley, but Harry just shushes her when she raises up a  _ meow _ in protest. 

Harry raises his semi-free hand and knocks at the door twice, then he stands there, Hermione under one arm, a vial and both their wands held tightly in his opposite hand. It takes a few moments, enough time for Hermione to think maybe they should try to leave but Harry doesn’t seem to be getting antsy so she starts to seriously consider the possibility that she truly  _ is  _ experiencing time differently.

The door  _ does _ open, however, and it’s Malfoy’s pale, pointy face that peers through the crack created. 

“What do you need, Potter?” He asks, and it’s nasally and annoyed, or embarrassed. Hermione doesn’t really know which, just that she’s mildly inconvenienced by the grating sound of it; like it’s a  _ put on _ voice, because she can remember how he had talked to her when she was a cat previously and it was far more pleasant than this.

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief that makes clear he is ignoring whatever signs Malfoy is trying to put out there. “Thank Merlin, Malfoy. Come on, let us through.” He says, all business and clear relief, and Malfoy rather reluctantly steps back; face looking pinched with both confusion and distaste.

“Why do you have a cat?” Malfoy asks as soon as the door is closed and he has made his way around Harry to be in front of him again. “And… two wands. Potter,  _ please _ tell me that isn’t  _ Granger. _ ”

Hermione cannot see it, but she’s pretty sure Harry makes his most sheepish of faces as he sets down the wands and potion, and then untucks her from under his arm and holds Hermione up for Malfoy to see. 

“It’s Hermione.” He confirms, and Malfoy’s pinched face loosens into a look of worry, surprise, confusion…

“How… What did you do to her?” Malfoy asks, trying to get back his footing, bring back his annoyance. It’s clear, however, to both Hermione and Harry that Malfoy is going to help them, has already resigned himself or decided or whatever Malfoy’s decision making process is.

“First, it wasn’t me, and second, it was George.” Harry says, firm, like he’s setting a ground rule or is getting ready to provide a debrief to Molly after he’s come in from playing with her grandchildren.

Malfoy sighs, put upon, and this Hermione believes. He waves a hand at Harry while turning to head for a desk that Hermione has just now seen; cauldrons and vials littered the room, books and ingredients as well. All things that she wants to  _ touch _ , and at least  _ most _ of that desire comes from currently being a cat; the rest comes from her need to understand. She squirms in Harry’s hold but he doesn’t let her go so she makes an aggravated sound.

“Oh, do put her down, I’m sure she won’t break anything, it’s  _ Granger _ , for Merlin’s sake.” Malfoy says, waving his hand again, clearly having been distracted from his initial thought process by her yowling. “Anyway, what made it happen? I can’t just churn up a fix if I don’t know the cause, you know, and I’m  _ sorry _ Granger, but if this isn’t the same as the last time I can’t guarantee how long it will take me.” 

This makes Hermione pause on her way away from Harry to look back and up at Malfoy by his desk. She knew, intellectually, that potions took time to brew. She also knew that since whatever potion she had been slipped was likely  _ new _ , the antidote would likely have to be as well; and that would take a skilled potions master, and possibly a great amount of time.

Her trepidation as all of this tumbles through her brain must show on her face because Malfoy looks abruptly away from her and pointedly at the vial and wands Harry had set down, and Harry crouches down beside her.

“Hey, he’ll fix it, and if push comes to shove, we’ll see if Molly can threaten more information out of Ginny and George, hm?” he says, trying for reassuring. 

She realizes another thing, then, about why Ginny might have so purposefully hinted toward Malfoy for the cure; George very well could have made Malfoy the only person who could undo it. She also realizes that Harry must have realized the same thing or he wouldn’t have worded it that way. She sits heavily, or as heavily as a cat can, and turns from looking at Harry to looking at Malfoy; he would have to know.

“Hang on, why don’t you just have Weasley make the antidote?” Malfoy asks, and Hermione swivels her little head back to Harry, pointed.

Harry sighs and stands slowly from his crouch. “Because with George… nothing is ever that simple, and- stop looking at me like that, Hermione, really, it’s worse from a cat you know.” Harry sighs again and turns more completely to look at Malfoy and  _ not _ at Hermione. “And because the way they told us how it could be cured implies that it has to be done by  _ you. _ ”

Malfoy is quiet a moment, and Harry crosses his arms and firms up his stance, like he’s preparing for Malfoy to take back his ascent to help.”Alright, give me the vial there, that’s what did it? And you have to tell me  _ exactly _ what you saw.” He says, turning to wave a lazy hand toward a small cauldron set that jumps to life and moves over to sit on the desk.

Harry grabs the vial and brings it back to Malfoy, who takes it and peers at it closely, before giving Harry a look to get him talking.

Hermione sighs inwardly as they start, and turns to investigate the room while they’re busy. She catches snatches of what they’re saying to each other as she sniffs delicately at the base of different-sized cauldrons sitting about the room.

“...She  _ did _ ask about the smell, but I didn’t understand what George was saying…”

“...it never changed color…”

“...shocked, I would say. But... “

Hermione makes her way around to jump up onto the desk, deciding that she wants to be a part of it all again. It was overwhelming, more so as a cat than as a human it might have been. Her mind runs back over the smell comment, and she blinks, thinking, before moving closer to sniff delicately at the cauldron Malfoy had dumped the potion into.

It still smelled of grass and leaves, like a strange mix of Summer and Autumn. She looks up at Malfoy and blinks at him, waiting for his attention.

“Yes, yes, what is it, cat?” He asks, a little snippy, but far less nasally. Harry seems to have stepped away, because his snort of amusement is further away that she would have expected it to be.

She sniffs at the cauldron again, pointedly, and Malfoy sighs.

“The smell, yes Granger, Potter informed me you asked about the smell, but unless you can write out what Weasley told you about it, I can’t really do much with that information. It smells like grass, or something, that could mean  _ anything. _ ” 

Hermione sits down, tail flicking behind her a little agitatedly, though the expression on her tiny face is closer to morose.

Harry, however, makes a sound from where he was sitting, causing both Hermione and Malfoy to look at him. “Ah, sorry, just… I thought it smelled like honey, and… that purple flower, the one that… Lavender, that’s the one.” He says, and Hermione is mentally rolling her eyes at Harry for forgetting  _ lavender _ , so she doesn’t process his answer as quickly as Malfoy.

“You smell something different to what I smell?” He asks, seeming very stiff in how he says it. “But you don’t know what  _ Granger _ smelled. She didn’t hint at it?” He adds, and Hermione thinks maybe it’s important, maybe it’s important that he also smells grass…

She stands and looks around, tail twitching behind her, agitated again. There were a wide array of ingredients in the room, some things hanging from the ceiling, others in bottles and flasks and vials along one of the walls. She hops off the desk and makes her way rather determinedly to Harry, not really sure she wants Malfoy to pick her up right now if what her quickly churning brain seems to think is happening is actually happening.

Harry obliges, as carefully as possible, and she then has the monumental task of trying to get him to walk toward the wall of ingredients. There had to be something there that was grass or fall like enough for her to get her point across (and what had George said about the smell? It was a by-product of the fusion of…)

She sees something that looks like leaves and reaches out with a paw, stretching, and Harry grabs it for her, holding it up and then turning toward Malfoy. “I’m not sure she knows exactly what this smells like, because I can’t imagine, but maybe it’s something similar?” Harry suggests, and Malfoy frowns, coming back around his desk to look at it. 

“Is that it, Granger? It’s something similar?” He asks, and she makes her little cat head nod, a strange motion that she doesn’t like one bit. 

It takes too long for them to figure out that it’s  _ leaves _ or  _ fall _ that she means, but they do eventually get there, and Malfoy’s nose wrinkles as they finally decide on it, sighing softly. “Very few potions have a difference in smell as a feature.” He says, turning toward a wall of books. “This is going to take me some time, especially if it in some way includes  _ me. _ ” Malfoy says, and Hermione thinks she knows what he’s going to say next, but Harry cuts him off.

“I’ll take Hermione home with me, then, and you can owl if you need anything?” he asks, and Malfoy looks over at him, clearly already on his way to being deep in thought. 

“Yes, for now that’s for the best. I’ll let you know when I need you back.” Malfoy adds, and Hermione makes a noise, squirming in Harry’s hold again. “Well I can’t exactly keep a cat entertained for the many hours this might take, Granger, honestly. And food? What are you supposed to eat while I’m busy? Who knows what’s going on in that little head of yours, no, until I’m ready, Potter is going to have to keep you.” He says, taking in a breath afterward and going back to his desk.

Harry sighs and curls Hermione up under his arm once more. “We’ll take the floo from Leaky, yeah? Better than apparating like this.” He says, and Hermione resigns herself, annoyed, to this fate.


	5. 5

Draco spends a long time after they leave him trying to figure out why he’s the one who has to break the spell on Granger.

When Draco was very young he used to wander the halls of the Manor whenever he had the time. He had tutors, of course, and designated instruction times, parties to attend with his parents, and teas with just his mother. But he had time, every so often, when nothing else was planned and he could wander. 

It was during these wanderings that he often found himself in the library. He liked this best of all because if he was found  _ there _ he wasn’t sent along  _ else _ where. He liked the books, and he liked the shelves, and he liked seeing what someone might have been reading. 

He learned about a lot of things that he thought he was very  _ cool _ for knowing so young that way. Most of those things he doesn’t ever think about if he can manage it, but there was one thing…

In 6th year Potions, a class he managed to pay attention during for a handful of reasons, they learned about many different and important potions. In this particular Potions class on this particular day, though, they were learning about 3 potions in particular, and to be very honest the information he received in the first 10 minutes of class was far more illuminating than the vague reading he had done at the age of 8 in his parent’s library. 

He was called back to that moment, little 8-year-old Draco with perfect hair and insatiable curiosity, during class when Granger had been unable to keep her mouth shut about the smell of the potion with the pearly sheen and the curling tendrils of steam. That one potion that was both extremely interesting and horribly misunderstood.

But Weasley hadn’t put Amortentia into the potion, no… no Draco is sure of that, because that would be multiple types of illegal and cruel. 

Not to mention that Granger had been turned back into a cat, instead of an obsessed fool. That meant that this was a new potion entirely, which was not surprising but meant that he had a lot of work to do. 

So she hadn’t imbibed a true love potion, couldn’t have done. 

Draco pushes away from his desk and drag a hand over his eyes. He’ll have to go back to the manor and hope that there will be something more there for him to look through. It’s the only option he can think of that doesn’t include sending an owl to Potter and asking for the cat back so maybe  _ she _ can accidentally figure it out. 

With a sigh of disgust he gets up and reaches for his cloak; no reason to stay here and think nonsense when he had things to do.

The library in the Manor, Draco knew, had a large number of problematic volumes that as a child he had been very lucky not to have touched during his wanderings. It also had a number of old family style texts that he hadn’t looked at since a time well before the war when he still cared about his name as much as he cared about himself. What he needed from the library was hopefully not related to either of those options.

The library also contained a very good selection of potions anthologies, which he didn’t think would help in this instance. What he really needed, he thinks as he stands in the middle of the library with a frown firmly set on his face, is an  _ idea. _ He needs some type of epiphany or something that will help him piece together the random facts he has before he starts to take the potion sample he had apart.

If Draco were of the mischievous bend, something he had never even wanted to be, what would he do? What little thing would he do to someone because it could be  _ funny. _

Turn them into a cat and make only one person able to turn them back?

Draco snorts to himself and drags tired hands over his frustrated face. “Insanity, that’s what the Weasley has.” He says, frustrated. There was nothing else for it, really. Who even came up with that kind of plan? Only someone with some insanity going on, that’s who.

Draco leaves off on the search for the night, going to dinner with his mother and pretending he’s not feeling stressed when she asks. He goes to bed thinking about this problem, and dreams through the night of a cat with too smart eyes, and a tail as agitated as he was frustrated.

There’s an owl waiting at his study window the next morning when Draco’s finished his shower. He looks at it, a frown set deep within his face; he doesn’t want to deal with Potter right now, not even through letter. He gives in, though, can’t leave the owl waiting forever, and takes the letter.

_ Malfoy, _

_ Having any luck? _

_ HP _

Draco snorts softly, rolling his eyes. “You should just peck at his glasses when you bring this back, that’s what you should do.” He says as he writes under Potter’s message a distinct ‘not yet’. He hands it to the bird and nods for it to fly off. “Maybe bite him once, the knuckles, yeah?” He calls after it, before wrinkling his nose at himself for having spoken to a  _ bird. _

It’s as he’s pouring over a chapter index within an old tome in the library that he realizes it, knows without a doubt what Weasley had done but can’t bring himself to actually think about it. If he gives it any real merit then…

It’s a  _ true love _ potion. 

Or, no, it’s a formula, Draco thinks a little frantically, because now that he’s allowed himself to thoroughly think it and let it exist in his brain he has to think it through. It’s not a true… not a  _ real _ true love potion because those are almost impossible to brew properly but, well, hadn’t Weasley proven himself capable of that? The impossible?

But there’s no way  _ he’s _ Granger’s true love. That was utterly preposterous. There was no chance that they could even…

There are three books spread out over his work bench 3 hours later.. He had found multiple interesting chapters on the topic of true love potions, and had pulled up information on regular love potions as well. Those had been discarded after he had gleaned what he needed about Amortentia from their pages and found to his dismay that Amortentia was just.. Well, to put it simply: the Amortentia potion’s signature smell was all that the creator had been able to replicate while trying to make one of the true love potions Draco was staring at currently. Amortentia was the only replicable love potion in the world, according to whatever book that had been in, that even came close to a real, true love potion.

But the information stored in  _ these _ books was more promising and far less annoying. He ignores the intruding thought that Granger would find the facts about Amortentia interesting at the very least, and continues with his reading.

By the time he’s startled out of his focus by a loud series of knocks on the workshop’s door, he’s learned quite a bit that should be able to help him; all of which he staunchly refuses to believe until he sees it happen.

He waves his wand at the door and it opens, revealing Potter carrying what he feels looks like a very disgruntled cat. “Potter, Granger.” He says, stepping around his work bench and waving a lazy hand behind him to mark the pages and shot them; no need for Granger to get her nose in them before he can say anything, and Potter’s too happy to let her go run around in here for him to think it safe to leave them open.

“Malfoy, figured you’d be here.” Potter says, which is annoying to Draco because how on earth could he have assumed that about him; and he had been right which was even worse. “Had to get Hermione out of the house, see, Kreacher doesn’t seem to like cats, and she was getting annoyed with… well, Kreacher’s promised to empty the house of mice and rats, apparently.”

Draco blinks, surprised by the overshare as much as he is by the sudden vision of a normal Hermione Granger pouting over a house full of mice. “Right, well. You’ve found me, and I haven’t pulled apart the potion you gave me yet but I think I know what it is, at least.”

Cat-Granger stills where she had clearly been preparing to jump from his stool to the work bench, and Potter cocks his head to the side, arms coming up to cross over his chest.

“Oh? That’s something since you had no ideas this morning, and what did you do to my owl? She was right rude when she came back.” Potter says, reaching up to re-settle his glasses.

“It’s been hours since then, Potter.” Draco says, almost tired, but it feels nice, it feels like… himself. “And you’re not going to like it.” He adds, turning to look at the cat now sitting patiently on the stool. The attention being on her seems to make her nervous because Draco watches her tail flick a few times, agitated and fast, behind her. 

Potter makes an impatient sound. “Well? If you know what it is, then you can fix it.”

Draco sighs, looking away from the cat and over to Potter; it would be easier, he thinks, to say it to  _ him _ because it doesn’t affect him like it does the cat-Granger. “It’s a type of ‘True Love” potion. Can’t figure out how he managed to make it, not sure why she’s a cat yet, but there are a bunch of them, all old, never been made so far as anyone really believes.” He says, as though by speaking more he can barrel through Potter’s response.

He misses the way the cat goes even more still, the way every part of her seems to stiffen to stone at the thought. 

“That’s… George is good, a genius so far as anyone can tell, but if they’ve never been made…?”

Draco sighs, looking away, at least it was just disbelief, right? He could deal with that versus the alternative: anger.

“I’m still researching, but everything points there; the comments you said he and his sister made, the fact that Granger smelled something different from you when she smelled the potion, the long-winded explanation Weasley gave when Granger asked about the spell that you apparently weren’t listening to… Even the color seems to match what some of the old books say.” He says, and he doesn’t like talking like this, it feels foreign and strange and wrong, but then he doesn’t talk this much, not anymore. He can feel it, though, how close to being  _ himself _ it feels to say all this with a bit of annoyance.

It’s… strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet...


	6. Six

Hermione can tell she isn’t going to like what Malfoy has to say when he looks away from her. 

She knows she’s a  _ cat _ right now, and that definitely adds to him not wanting to keep looking at her as he talks but… no this was because he didn’t want to be looking at her when he answered. She doesn’t blame him, not really, she thinks as she bends her head to look over the titles of the texts on the bench before her.

She’s only half listening, then, when Malfoy states his belief: A  _ True Love potion. _

There’s no way.

She feels herself stiffen, little cat neck and spine and legs, even her tail. It’s impossible, and to think that if George  _ had _ somehow managed one he would know who the.. She blinks out of her little spiral and jumps onto the bench, landing softly on top of the books before making a little  _ meow. _ She needs their attention, because there’s no way George could have predicted who her soulmate would be; it couldn’t be a true love potion.

“But they said it had to be  _ you _ who broke it. How could they have known that?” Harry asks, and Hermione pauses, had been about to meow a little more urgently since no one was paying her any attention.

She looks to Malfoy now, waiting for his response, and is not disappointed. “I told you I  _ thought _ I had an idea. Currently it is the only thing that fits, Potter.” He says, a little miffed sounding, voice taking on that higher, nasally sound she doesn’t really enjoy. “Again, I have not figured out why she’s a cat again, but I’m working on it so…”

Hermione can  _ feel _ the ‘so if you would please take your leave of me’ in the look Malfoy gives Harry at that. She looks back to Harry now, because the books she is standing on are most probably about those potions, and she wants a peak at the research. She tries to will him to look at her, but he doesn’t.

“Should I try to get the answer out of George?” Harry asks, which is extremely the right thing to do, but George would never tell, and oh if Harry told him Malfoy thought it was a True Love potion wouldn’t that just be the worst? “Ah, let me see what I can dig out of them anyway. Can I leave Hermione with you? If you’re just going to be here?” He asks, and… while it was what Hermione wanted, she’s also extremely surprised that Harry offered it up himself.

But then, he’s always been slightly more intuitive than he ever let on.

“-- make sure you come collect her before dark.” Malfoy is saying when she tunes back into the conversation. He must have agreed to keep her, then, she thinks, so she sits down more comfortably.

She doesn’t feel her tail swooshing behind her, but then it’s an automatic thing for cats, isn’t it?

“Hey, so I’m leaving you with Malfoy, try not to get in too much trouble, hm?” Harry says, a soft teasing in his voice and she just knows that despite how helpful Harry is being right now she will never be living this down once it’s over. She bats playfully at his nose and he pulls back from the lean he had taken up in front of her, grinning; if it really were a True Love potion, then why couldn’t it have been Harry who could break it?

She shakes her little cat head, and refocuses: either Malfoy was wrong, or George was in trouble. Or both, she could easily believe that both were the case.

But she wouldn’t know until she had been able to look at the research Malfoy had done. She turns expectant eyes on him, and watches as his face schools itself into a blank look of disapproval. “Well, I can’t do much if you’re sat all over the texts.” He says, and Hermione mentally rolls her eyes, tail jerking in annoyance, but she stands and gets off the books, settling next to them and giving him a look.

Malfoy just shakes his head, though she can’t tell if it was at her or himself, before coming back around the bench. He waves his hand and the books open again, slow enough for her to move out of the way. She moves closer, interested. He must have been on these pages when Harry brought her in.

The first book makes her sniff in disdain, and Malfoy makes an agitated sound behind her but she ignores him and continues on her perusal. Malfoy wasn’t wrong about the potion George had made fitting most all of the descriptors of one of the True Love potions. It wasn’t a good thing, she thought, because if Malfoy  _ wasn’t _ her true love, then how could he…

“Wait, Granger.” Malofy says, and it’s been hours, hasn’t it, her reading while Malfoy worked to pull the potion apart beside her.

She looks up at him, face unreadable, but then she was a cat so it couldn’t really be helped. She turns completely, eyes dragging from him to the cauldron and the runes and complex symbols swirling above it. She had never gotten as into potions work as she could have, she knew. There was so much more she could have learned that wasn’t ever even brought up in even the NEWTs level courses. One of those things was what Malfoy was doing now; a very complex form of magic used to help determine the components of a potion.

She could understand some of the runes glowing boldly above the bubbling, orange potion. None of what she knew was helpful to her, though, and she imagines they must have different meanings when mixed together.

“Have you ever heard of that?” Malfoy asks her and she mentally shakes herself and turns her eyes back to him. She can’t ask him what he means so she has to just stare at him and hope he gets it. “Honestly, if you’re going to be here you might as well pay attention.” he says, and it’s haughty, makes her tail twitch in annoyance but really it suits him and she kind of --

She tilts her head instead, giving him a look that could border on unimpressed. Malfoy stares at her a moment, similarly unimpressed, before he gives in with a sigh.

“These runes here mention something like… a clause I would call it.” He says, frowning up at the runes again like he had just remembered how vexing they were. “An ‘if/then’ type of thing, you see?” She doesn’t but then she can’t read that set of runes so she hadn’t really had a chance there. “This isn’t the same as the potion from this book here.” He adds, pointing to one of the potions listed under the True Love heading.

This potion, Hermione notes after she’s made her way over to look at the list, is the one that had shared the most superficial characteristics to the potion George had made. She frowns internally, her tail twitching in response. Her eyes drag down to the next potion, and then the next and then…

Her paw drops forcefully to the page, pointing at another potion that had been similar in looks but not so similar as the last one. “Oh, no Granger.” Malfoy says, though the way he says it makes her feel like he had come to the same conclusion as her at probably just about the same time. She looks up at him, a question in her eyes. 

With a sigh, Malfoy looks back at the complex shapes and runes over the cauldron, before he points out another set of symbols, and looks back at her. “I don’t want it to be that one.” He says, dismissive. “I’m not done, though. The clause was filled in with a few requirements, and I think that when you turned into a cat was when Weasley was able to determine you had to come to me.” 

Hermione watches him as he speaks, watches as the words fall from his lips like he isn’t aware he’s saying them. She knows that feeling, can see it set in as his face pulls into a frown as the answers force their way out; he hadn’t known what he was going to say until he had said it. She makes a little sound, a  _ mew _ and taps at the potion she had pointed out already. 

“Fairy tales aren’t real, Granger.” He says, a soft sneer; like it hadn’t wanted to be a sneer even though Malfoy was trying desperately to remain aloof.

Hermione takes a step back so that Malfoy can flip to the page that has the potion on it, unperturbed by his attitude. He makes a sound, annoyed, and flips to the page, eyes starting to scan it even before Hermione can move to read it.

The potion held, it seemed, a simple purpose: through a process of elimination based on a number of intriguing logical choices, the potion would provide a result that could best be summarized as “like in a fairy tale”. 

Hermione mentally frowns, tail moving agitatedly again. This made it sound like, well…

“This sounds made up, Granger, what is  _ Sleeping Beauty? _ Or the  _ Princess and the Frog? _ ” 

Hermione’s heart stops, and that’s it, isn’t it: she was turned into a  _ cat _ and George knew he had gotten something fun, a great result, because the  _ last time _ she had been a cat had been with Malfoy and…

“-suppose I’m going to have to research  _ that _ now, aren’t I? Since you can’t tell me the answer. And don’t go thinking I want answers  _ told _ to me, I’m perfectly capable of finding them myself.” Malfoy is saying when she finally turns away from the book to look at him, to pay attention again. 

If the outcome of this potion is different depending on the  _ if/then _ clause, and it’s related to true love potions as well as fairy tales, then they’ll have to narrow down the fairy tales. Since the ones in the book were muggle tales, that meant he would need  _ her _ help. She tilts her little at head and reaches up a paw.

“No.” Malfoy says, sullen looking, like the rich boy who always got his way and suddenly isn’t that he used to be might have looked. “I can’t bring a  _ cat _ with me.” He says, but she persists.

It’s good sense, she thinks when he finally gives in and transfigures a spare robe into a sturdy bag for her to get into. If she had been herself she’d have suggested a backpack, something she’s sure he’s never seen nor heard of, but instead he’s off out of his little workspace in a transfigured coat, carrying a heavy-looking bag that Hermione is hiding in. She spares a thought for what the muggles will think as he quietly mutters to himself about where the closest muggle bookshop might be, but in the end it doesn’t matter; Malfoy cares little what they think of him, she’s sure.

If only she could more completely help him with this, though. The bookstore he finds is cramped, books piled high all around them, and the surprise on the sellers face really says quite a lot about how many patrons they normally get in a day. But it feels like home, or as much as any bookstore feels, and the lack of magic in the air gives it a different feeling that can’t quite be matched or explained.

Malfoy seems to relax as he moves through the stacks and aisles to the indicated shelf, and Hermione thinks that’s very interesting. He sets the bag with her in it down, and starts looking through the books on offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely ^^ I can't decide whose POV I want to write more, so it's a bit of a slog. Hope you enjoy anyway ^^


	7. 7

_ Fairytales _ , Draco’s brain seems to scoff the word at him every time he thinks about it.

He’s thinking about it frequently, obviously, being that he’s standing in a muggle bookshop in the  _ fairytale  _ section. It was a stupid hunch and a stupid potion, but then it was from the Weasley, so he cannot allow himself too much surprise in that regard.

_ Rude. _ He snorts at himself, but amends the previous thought: it was a highly intricate and difficult potion, not seen for potentially thousands of years if it had ever been possible to create in the first place, and the fact that it included  _ nonsense _ at its core was frustrating. Insane, even. In fact it was ludicrous that he was even working so hard on this, why hadn’t Granger and Potter just gone back to the Weasley and demanded the counter--

“What?” He snaps in a whisper, looking down at the cat who seems to now be glaring up at him. “Unless you’ve found something I’d appreciate not being…” He trails off, had already lost steam after actually looking at her, but the way she seemed to dismiss his ire by turning and stretching up to set her paws on a shelf and tap a book with her nose made him, well… he couldn’t continue to whisper-yell at a cat, could he? Even if she  _ had _ dug her claws into his leg just a little.

He lets a breath out of his nose, can’t let her know he’s not annoyed with her any longer, and reaches for the book she had indicated.

The book was a much more modern re-telling, he could see, of the fairytales, than the one he had just been looking at. “What about Grimm’s, though? Thought we were all about authenticity?” He asks, as if they had previously had a conversation about that. The cat-Granger just looks up at him a second before reaching up to place her paws against his knee; asking to get up. “No, no not here, I’m already not supposed to have you in here, remember? Here, I’ll set it with contents page open right here, how’s that?” He asks, putting it on the shelf again, this time facing out, open to the contents page so Granger could peruse while he went back to looking at what he thought were the more likely options.

She makes a little chirpy sound of elation, however, a few moments into reading the contents, and Draco sighs, squatting down with a grimace to look. “Alright, what is it?” He asks, and Granger’s little paw reaches out to tap the page. “The Princess and the Frog?” He asks, bewildered. “You’re not a  _ frog _ , Granger.” He adds, and she gives him as nonplussed a look as a cat can muster. “Alright, alright, I’ll get this book.” He says, a little grumbly.

He’s being pushed around by a  _ cat _ .

Well, he was being bossed around by Hermione Granger, if he was being more honest, so really it isn’t all that surprising, but… still.

He encourages her back into the bag he had brought her in, picks it up along with the book, and heads up front to pay. He’s pleased to be out of the shop and on his way back to his workshop. It feels like he’s accomplished something,  _ they’ve _ accomplished something, which is very good.

It’s very good because he is closer to figuring out how to  _ fix _ Granger and get her back to normal. There’s a soft  _ meow _ from the bag he’s carrying and he apologizes under his breath, then feels his cheeks heat lightly; apologizing to a  _ cat,  _ and in public no less. He shakes his head at himself and continues on to his workshop.

He sets the bag down when they get into the shop and Granger immediately hops out of it, pacing for a moment before hopping up onto the workbench to wait for him. 

“I have to read it first, Granger.” He says, playing at being annoyed with her again but it doesn’t sit well so he drops it as he grabs up the new book. “Now be good while I read.” He says, and the cat gives him an appraising type of look before backing off to look around the room. He watches her for a moment, before shaking his head at himself and sitting down to read.

He reads a couple of the tales, trying to get a good base understanding of the type of magical morality George Weasley had been working with when making the potion. He’s loathe to admit it, but when he finishes the princess and the frog story he can’t deny that it makes the most sense but…

But he can’t believe he’s Granger’s soulmate, not even with all of the hints here and what he knows about her. It’s too ridiculous, and too… well, he’d been an absolute dick when he was a child, hadn’t he been? He’d been a terrible teenager, awful to her, no matter how much of that had been due to an incorrect worldview and a number of things he couldn’t control.

He’s frowning at the book as he thinks about it, can feel the pull of his lips and the way it brings his whole body into a state of tense unhappiness. He shakes his head in an effort to rid himself of the feeling, but it persists; this was the problem with negative thoughts, it was the problem with the self-doubt and worry he had subjected himself to. It never ended once it started, not until he dragged himself from it.

There’s a soft  _ meow _ from beside him atop the workbench and he looks up from the book to frown at her. He couldn’t wallow while Granger was still stuck as a  _ cat _ . He pulls in a breath, lets it out slow, and sits up a little to level the cat with a look.

“I suppose, Granger, that you must be right.” He says, and she shuffles a little like she’s excited before settling in a seated position, clearly wanting him to tell her more. “It matches the requirements of the potion, makes sense in terms of what Weasley said to Potter about what would break the spell but…”

Cat-Granger stares at him, urging him to continue for a second before she blinks, big, cat eyes almost comical as she does so. She stands up and nudges the book, then steps on it lightly to lift her head up toward Draco’s.

“Maybe we should have Potter kiss you first.” He says, and the look she gives him is rather acidic, partly daring, and a little hurt. “Well I can’t imagine you  _ want _ me to be your soulmate.” He says, sounding grouchy and realizing he’s said it only after it’s come out of his stupid, recently insecure mouth. He  _ hates _ insecurity.

Granger doesn’t blink again, but he sees her tail flick nervously behind her as she stares up at him.

“You’re a  _ cat. _ ” He tries, like a last ditch effort; he doesn’t want to find out that she  _ isn’t _ his soulmate after all of this effort and… “fine.” he says, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the little cat’s nose.

It’s not instant, which is extremely nerve-wracking because instantly he wonders how he’s going to explain to absolutely anyone why he was kissing a cat (no one would have to know except Granger, the cat…). There’s a flash of light when it starts, the magic a little showy, glittery and gold as it spills out over them. He has a last thought, a bit of a panic about how he should have had Granger get on the floor instead of sitting on top of his workbench like this, but then it’s gone because there is Granger.

She’s sitting on the workbench, one leg dangling off and one curled up with her foot planted firmly on one of his books. She looks surprised, confused, eyes wide and lips parted. Draco, to his eternal credit, does not jump away as she transforms so he’s still very close to her, lips just barely parted.

“Oh, you did it!” She says, voice a little rough but Draco thinks it sounds rather nice.

Of course, once he’s thought that, his whole body goes a little tense and his cheeks start to color. “Ah, yes, well, we figured it out.” He says, a little quieter, considering pulling back and away and wondering if he could hide in the manor for the next couple of months until she’s forgotten all of this.

“Yes, we did.” She says, and Draco realizes that no, no Hermione Granger is absolutely not going to allow him to do that. “And oh now I can tell Harry, he was so worried, and…” She sighs, shaking her head, a hand going up into her even messier than normal hair. “Ah, come on, I need to tell Harry and I think we need to stop George from ever using this again.” She says, slipping off the workbench and right into Draco’s rather tense space.

She is, again, seemingly unconcerned. 

“Granger, I’m, must you inform Potter?” He asks. The question earns him another look but no movement away from him. “You know, because of how we turned you back.” He adds, in case she is unaware of why telling Potter all of this might be bad… for  _ him. _

Granger is quiet as she looks at him, appraising him, and then her lips twitch up into a softer smile. “Well, I can’t promise I won’t tell Harry that the counter-curse included you kissing me, but I think he was starting to suspect that would be the only option.” she says with a shrug, which is rather infuriating and also rather nice. It was nice that she wasn’t uncomfortable with this.

“I kissed a cat, Granger, I didn’t kiss  _ you. _ ” He says, which is really just semantics, and he can see the way her mind is running over what he said. He can also see why

She shifts her stance, hands on her hips, and it’s very clear that she’s fighting a rather impulsive need to say something. She holds whatever that might have been back, though, and Draco finds himself wondering what that first thing might have been. “It’s basically the same thing, now I’m going to use your owl, and then we’re going to get dinner.” She says, bossy and certain and dismissive. Draco just…

He just nods, which is very frustrating because he had thought he had a brain and his own free will and clearly when faced with Hermione Granger that is not the case. Or, it  _ is _ the case, but he really shouldn’t let himself believe in a stupid fairy tale and a silly potion that can’t possibly know anything about, about his life and Hermione Granger’s life. But the main thing here is that he wants to do what she says, even though it kind of goes against his newly built nature of staying inside and not talking to anyone.

Hermione slips around him to find quill, ink, and paper, and he just sighs to himself, feeling very put upon for almost no reason. Since she’s busy and no longer focused on him, he shifts and turns to look at her, a haughty pout on his face.

“Well, we can’t just go to the Leaky Cauldron. I won’t be seen there.” He says, very petulant sounding but it just serves to make her laugh. 

“Wherever you want to go, Draco, you turned me back into a human, I’m not going to be picky.” She says, finishing up what she was writing. “I haven’t eaten much since I was turned.” she adds, attaching the letter to the owl and telling him where to go.

Draco wrinkles his nose a little, had almost forgotten but really shouldn’t have. “Right, well, if that’s what you’re wearing we can’t go anywhere too nice.” He says, turning to find his cloak.

Hermione laughs again, not offended and instead seeming to find him amusing. “It’s what I’m wearing, yes.” She says, and Draco sighs, seemingly very put upon but he thinks she can see through him, though he can’t imagine how.

“We’ll have to make do.” He says, and leads her out to find something to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end!!


	8. End

“Did you hear?” “Have you seen…?” “It was in the  _ Prophet _ even!” “I refuse to believe it.”

The whispers, the gossip, it was the thing that Hermione hated the most about the Ministry. The gossip mill was at it again, and this time it was about her and Draco Malfoy.

"At the _Magic Hat_ , yes, that's where they were seen." "can you imagine? What did they even _talk_ about?" "A... well, _you_ know what he was like, is like? I can't imagine..." "It must not be real, but then..."

It had been a very _long_ week at work. Harry had taken her explanation well and even had promised not to tell anyone; "What, you think I'm stupid enough to tell anyone that you'd been tricked into being turned into a _cat_?" It was sweet of him, and clearly he was avoiding the part about Draco Malfoy being her _soulmate_. She couldn't fault him for that, not really, not at all.

"Ms Granger had the salmon, and honestly if I was out with someone as rich as a _Malfoy_ I would have gone for-" "Did anyone see a ring? Heard it wasn't the first time they'd been seen together." "The article said..."

She had, herself, been trying to ignore the whole thing all week. Dinner with Draco had been a little awkward but otherwise rather nice. It was clear that they were both running on some sort of adrenaline from having figured out the potion and the antidote as well as some form of intense refusal on both of their parts to talk about anything but the ridiculousness of the situation. It was a great conversation, actually, and Hermione had gone home feeling challenged and energized in a way she hadn't felt in a little while.

"They were _arguing_. Honestly, it was clearly a meeting." "They're working on werewolf rights, Malfoy does potions now, or something." "Business, totally and completely, they're _discussing_ in the-"

All of this, though, made everything about the rumors running around even more frustrating: Rita Skeeter might be allowed to write her insanity again, but her coworkers believing every little bit? That was the height of frustration to her. She couldn't imagine the idiocy that was being bantered around, why she'd even been asked if she was expecting the other day! The audacity.

“Did you hear the one about you changing all of your ‘Gryffindor’ colored things out for green and silver?” Ginny asks, eyes glittering in amusement. They’re out to lunch, a half day for Hermione so she plans to do a bit of shopping after. “It’s my personal favorite.”

Hermione sighs, pushing her salad around on the plate as she rolls her eyes. “You were in the Ministry for a maximum of 5 minutes.” She says, “there’s no way -”

“Oh no, there were two secretaries, one from the aurors, you know the guy, right? Well they were gossiping right in the elevator. Hilarious.”

Hermione wrinkles her nose. “They’re shameless.” She says, “and ridiculous, it’s been almost 1 week since the dinner, why on earth would I change my  _ entire wardrobe _ in 1 week?” she shakes her head and drops her fork, looking put out. “I look terrible in green.” she adds and Ginny snorts, covering it with her mug of soup.

“It’s hilarious to think that the second you’re seen with a boy they think you’d change yourself. It’s almost like they don’t know  _ you. _ ” Ginny says, and Hermione sighs, shaking her head. Obviously that was clearly it, which might be why she's so annoyed with it all.  


Or maybe she just hates that they're shoving their noses into a very strange and uncertain part of her life.

“Well, it just proves that there’s a long way to go, hm? All of them assuming, because I'm the woman, of course, that I'd immediately change myself for a man. A potentially rich one, no less. I can't wait for them to add something about me 'coming from nothing'. You know someone else said something about 'taming my hair' as if it were a beast and not just far curlier than theirs could ever manage.” She says with a bit of power behind her voice, then picks her fork up again to continue eating; the feeling settled and pushed away with a sigh. 

Ginny nods in agreement, grinning as she reaches for the piece of bread she'd saved to dip into her soup. “Anyway, how’s he taking being your true love? I mean, you haven't been seen out with him again so  


Hermione gives her a rather arch look. “How are you and George taking your punishments?” She returns, mostly just to watch Ginny squirm.

“Ah, mum’s right hacked off.” Ginny says, almost grumpy, “but she'll get over it eventually, especially if you've got a soulmate." she adds with a gleam in her eyes, "and you know the Unspeakables have reached out to George, all discreet-like as they're wont.”

The excitement in that statement really underscores part of why Hermione hadn’t done more than just hint to Mrs. Weasley that two of her children had turned her into a cat for a weekend with no chance of turning back. The potion George had built was incredibly powerful and incredibly rare and such good magic that, well, Hermione couldn’t stay mad for very long. Well, she  _ could _ , and she  _ was _ because it was irresponsible and dangerous of them both but…

In Flourish and Blotts sometime after lunch has passed, Hermione finds herself looking for wizarding fairytales. She had had the thought to a few times over the years, but hadn’t really ever gotten around to it since she had Beetle the Bard’s work. Today, however, has her searching it out; likely due to the knowledge that George was working with the Unspeakables on his potion.

“You’ve not had enough, hm?” A slightly drawling voice says from her left. The smile that crawls its way onto her face is a mixture of amused and exasperated, and she thinks that she’ll always feels that way around Draco.

“I’m intrigued.” She says, reaching out for a book that she likely won’t purchase. “You seemed so... “ she turns with a more playful smile on her lips to look at him, “so very horrified by the muggle fairytales. I think I need to see what you expect.” 

Draco scoffs, but his cheeks are dusted pink. She can’t imagine why, but she thinks that it actually happens rather often to him, especially now that he’s coming back out of his shell.

“Well, you won’t get anything out of  _ that _ garbage.” He says, a cover for his reaction she believes, the way that he goes a little acidic. He steps closer and reaches over her, his proximity making her blink and pull in a soft breath. He wasn’t focused on  _ her _ , though, he’s still talking, a book in his hand now. “-that this is the right person to go to for the type of frivolity you’re imagining.”

Hermione straightens her back, trying to erase every part of the way he had affected her just then before his eyes find her. She doesn’t manage it, she knows, because his cool eyes seem to falter when they find her.

Though that could be because he’s just realizing how close he had gotten to her. “This is the book.” He says, re-iterating it. She holds out her hands, looking up at him just a bit. 

“Thank you.” She says, and he blinks before shaking his head a little. 

A step back from him gives them a little space to consider each other again. It gives Hermione a moment to wonder why she wasn’t being bold here considering she had a large quantity of evidence to show that they would be very good with each other. It also gives her the chance to reprimand herself for letting her imagination get the best of her for a second; the whole fairy tale thing was very unlikely to be realistic.

“I’ve had four people owl me to ask about my love life since dinner with you on Sunday.” Draco says, feigning nonchalance. Hermione thinks it must take quite a lot for him to push that out.

She snorts softly, then looks down as she shakes her head. “Oh only four? The Ministry is abuzz.” She says, “care to take me to dinner again tonight?” She asks, “I’m free to provide more fuel for their gossip fires.” She adds, thoughtful and maybe a bit challenging.

Draco eyes her for a moment, seeming tense for a moment before he seems to decide she isn’t playing with him. “Well, if you’d like to cause a stir, I suggest brunch tomorrow.” He says, shifting a little and setting his shoulders. 

“Eleven?” She asks, tucking the book he had handed her under her arm. “I’ll open my floo for you.” She adds, and he nods, a smile ghosting across his face; definitely uncertain, definitely trying to figure out her reasoning and thoughts but also clearly  _ wanting _ to be smiling.

“I’ll be early.” He warns, and she grins.

“I’ll be ready.”

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end! I think I like the thought of it ending still uncertain, but know that there is always the chance that I might revisit them later on ^^ I'm also always very happy to hear what /you/ think happens to them - it's part of why I like ambiguous endings so much... Thank you for reading!


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